


I Should/Could/Would [Not] Never Love You

by ACatWhoWrites, NoHappyEnding



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, NHE2017, Step-siblings, Unhappy Ending, no happy ending, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHappyEnding/pseuds/NoHappyEnding
Summary: Baekhee loves her brother. Just not inthat way.





	I Should/Could/Would [Not] Never Love You

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** 2017-127  
>     
> Be cautious reading this fic; do not ignore the warnings. While I kept the content inexplicit, it is still heavy.

## WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT WHICH SOME PEOPLE MIGHT FIND TRIGGERING.  
PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Things change forever with every decision of every day.

Most days, Baekhee loves dressing up, but today isn’t most days. She pulls her hair over her shoulder and braids it slowly, staring at it in the mirror but not really seeing it. Pieces fall loose, and she doesn’t grab them, gathering it all the pin messily behind her head.

Her mom knocks on the door and looks inside, frowning a little at Baekhee’s bright dress. “Shouldn’t you wear something a little more somber?” It’s more suitable for summer, a stark contrast to her family’s black and gray and white, although she is wearing black leggings beneath it.

“He bought me this dress,” Baekhee replies stiffly, pawing around her box of accessories for something to hide the bobby pins in her hair. “I figured I’d wear it for him one last time before getting rid of it.” Her mom looks like she wants to say something else, but Baekhee sets her jaw and sits carefully, making it obvious she’s done talking and wants her leave, so she just sighs and closes the door.

Baekhee feels bad. She doesn’t mean to be a jerk; everyone is having a rough time. It feels like a _who can be the most miserable?_ competition in their house, lately, and Baekhee isn’t sure if she’s winning or wants to.

Someone else must be in the hall; they talk briefly with her mom, and Jongdae peeks inside with a soft knock.

Baekhee offers a small smile and waves him inside, no longer bothering with putting more things in her hair. She feels a headache already; no reason to add more weight to her hair.

Jongdae sits beside her, taking a green dinosaur and making it wave, just to try and make her laugh. “How’re you holding up?”

“With a lot of hairspray and denial.” She draws her legs up and hugs a stuffed, rotund purple cat fashioned to resemble a unicorn with a tiny aqua horn and matching mane and tail. Chanyeol had won it for her at an amusement park game. “I keep trying to figure out why this happened. Like, this time last week, we were goofing off and playing video games.

“It was when we got back to school that things got...weird.”

Monday wakes Baekhee up with a cold nose to the face. Her Corgi, Mongryong, wags his little tail as much as it can wag and whines when he notices her moving to avoid him.

“Mongryong… _down_. Stop it!” she shrieks and loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down beside her and kissing his face.

It must be time to get up. If not, she’s awake and can’t fall back asleep, anyway. She sits up, biting her lips so her dog won’t lick them, and fishes around beneath her pillow for her phone.

Half an hour before her alarm.

“You little butt,” she scolds the dog, who sits in the warm spot she’s left. He’s unapologetic and lifts a hind legs to sniff his rear. “You’re lucky you’re cute and that I love you, or you’d be sleeping with Chanyeol.” It would be more a punishment to him than the dog, really; her brother is allergic but has been getting allergy shots. He’s borderline obsessive with vacuuming, though, and his own little poodle is so aware and afraid of this that whenever Chanyeol so much as steps in the direction of the closet with the vacuum, he clambors onto a sofa or bed to get off the floor.

Plus side of being up so early: she can take her time doing her hair and getting ready. She showered last night and braided her hair, so it should have pretty waves when she unravels the braid.

Mongryong follows her throughout her morning routine, splooting across the bathmat as she fusses with her hair but surging to his feet when she whistles and steps over him to open the bathroom door.

“You’re up early,” Mrs. Byun greets.

“Good morning, Mother Dearest. I slept well, thank you, and I would love some breakfast; thank you.”

“You’re up _too_ early.” The woman shakes her head. She’s a kind woman, divorced once but never talks about her ex. She was a lab technician before becoming a housewife and has been taking night classes in preparation for returning to her field now that the kids are in high school. “I haven’t walked the dogs, yet. Do you have time to join me, or…?”

Baekhee looks at the clock. If Chanyeol doesn’t show signs of life in a few minutes, she’ll have to go wake him up. “It’d be cutting it too close, or I would. I’ll get their leashes, though.” Mongryong follows her heels but resists his harness every step of the way, panting happily at being touched and receiving so much attention, even as his girl is turning pink in the face from being bent over so long.

“You’re getting fat, Ryong; your harness barely clips! I thought the walks were supposed to help.”

“It’s winter fat and fur, honey. He’ll slim down once it’s warm again.”

Baekhee whistles up the stairs, and a dark face with bright eyes looks down at her. “C’mon, Toben. Let’s go for a walk.” Younger than Mongryong, Toben is an intelligent toy poodle with a love for anything physical, so while the Corgi sits unhappily in his harness, Toben obediently steps into his and only starts dancing once he hears the click of the leash.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Byun takes either leash and pats her coat pockets for her phone. “I’ll see you tonight; have a good day.”

“You, too. Enjoy the walk.” Baekhee crouches down to ruffle both dogs’ ears. “Be good, boys.”

Chanyeol falls out of bed while Baekhee’s eating breakfast. If it wasn’t such a common occurance, she’d go check on him; he’s notoriously difficult to wake up, and since junior high, they’ve been responsible for waking themselves up and getting ready for school. If one or the other oversleeps, they make sure to wake the other. Baekhee’s taken to ripping his covers off, because nothing else works. She just needs a gentle push and someone talking to her, but Chanyeol usually drops Mongryong on top of her. He is not a petite dog.

Her brother looks awake but not entirely aware, shuffling into the kitchen with his hair a mess and sleep shirt on backwards.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Chanyeol mumbles something and stares blearily at the food Baekhee pushes at him.

“Eat. We gotta go, soon. Mom’s walking the dogs, already.”

He gurgles something and makes grabby hands at the pitcher of juice beside Baekhee. She pushes it towards him as well as the plates and bowls of food their mom left out. “Eat. Drink. Get dressed. We’ve got a train to catch.”

They make it to their train and split up once on school grounds. Chanyeol usually hangs out in the music rooms before class, and sometimes Baekhee will tag along, but she goes to homeroom his morning, instead.

Even down the hall, Baekhee hears her best friend belting out a current pop song.

Baekhee does her best pirouette and parks herself on the desk beside Jongdae’s, picking up the song where he leaves off, as his voice dissolves into laughter.

“Be careful with those spins!”

“Why? I’m wearing shorts, see?” She lifts the hem of her skirt, showing off black bike shorts and a bruise from practising a new cheer routine.

Jongdae squawks and turns away, ears red. “You can’t just _do that_ , you freak!”

“Who’s the real freak, the one comfortable wearing layers of clothes to protect her modesty, or the teenage boy blushing when a skirt’s lifted? Honestly, Jongdae, I never pegged you for the type.” She pinches her skirt and starts dragging it up her leg, nudging her friend with her foot.

“Dude, control your sister.”

Baekhee looks to the door; Chanyeol’s finally shown up, probably primping in the bathroom earlier. He just shakes his head and scoffs. “There’s no telling her anything. Trust me. I’ve been trying for years.”

Baekhee’s dad and Chanyeol’s mom, both divorcees, met when the kids were six-years-old and married when the kids were eight. They’re ecstatic to be real siblings, having become fast friends when they first met. Baekhee, six months older, would hold her seniority over him when she wanted to win an argument, but it stopped working once they were in junior high.

“But, like, I’ve said repeatedly, Yeol, _ask me nicely_ , and I’ll probably do it. Add _please_ , and I may not even be a brat about it.”

“Baekhee,” Chanyeol says sweetly, “would you please not be such a slut flashing the whole school?”

She flushes red, and their classmates seem torn between laughing and intervening. They’re saved from having to decide with the presence of their homeroom teacher. Jongdae touches her arm.

“Ignore him, Baek.”

“He’s making it extremely hard, lately.” She takes her seat a couple desks behind him and tries to set her brother’s hair on fire with her eyes.

He didn’t used to be such a jerk. Sometimes, most of the time, he’s his usual sweet self. Since hitting puberty, he’s changed, though, and Baekhee doesn’t get why. Other boys his age have changed, too, sure, and in obvious physical ways as well as developing emotional and mental, but very few have gotten _meaner_.

Maybe it’s just Baekhee. Something about her pisses Chanyeol off. If that’s the case, she wishes he’d tell her what, so she could change it or kick the attitude out of him.

When she asks, though, she doesn’t get a real answer.

After school and their respective practices, Baekhee knocks on the door to their music room that doubles as a video game room. Their parents wanted a room for their kids to be noisy and not disturb the neighborhood, so heavy drapes cover the walls, and the floor is cushy with carpeting and rugs. Chanyeol, seated in a deep beanbag chair with a guitar on his lap, glances at her with a rough “What?”

“What was with the attitude this morning?” He pushes Mongryong’ curious muzzle away with the head of his guitar.

“What attitude?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Being such a jerk in homeroom. Calling me a slut. It’s one thing to be a prick at home, but you could at least pretend to be normal in public. Regardless, I did not appreciate any of it.”

“Fine,” he says. “Sorry.” It doesn’t ring at all true, and it makes Baekhee more frustrated and angry. The moodiness and lethargy remind her of something, though.

She closes her eyes and bites her lips, keeping back the words she wants to say that she knows she’d regret. Instead, she softly asks, “Chanyeol, have you been taking your meds?”

He glares at nothing but air, jaw tense.

“You _need_ to take them—”

“They don’t work. They _never work_.”

“Then the dose is wrong. We can ask Mom to make an appointment to talk to the doctor. They’ll figure it out.”

“They never do!” He tosses his guitar aside—thankfully onto a pile of pillows—and surges to his feet. He’s grown a lot, lately, and already towers over Baekhee. “They have no idea what’s really wrong with me, so they keep giving me new things that make me feel like complete crap!”

She steps into his path, determined to reason with him. “Better sleepy and lazy than angry all the time! You’ve been really mean, lately!”

“It’s not like I want to be!” Mongryong trips over himself trying to avoid the boy’s feet. “Dog, seriously.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“Ryong, _move!_ ” His foot lifts the Corgi off the ground and throws him at Baekhee’s feet. She’s crouched beside him in an instant, feeling him all over and fighting tears when he licks her fingers.

“Park Chanyeol, just because you’re fucking hormonal and miserable doesn’t mean you can take it out on me _or_ my dog. Grow up!” She grabs Mongryong as gently as she can and hefts him into her arms, storming from Chanyeol’s bedroom. The door slams behind her, and she hears their mom yell up the stairs, but she’s too angry to feel sorry.

Going across to her own room, she throws things into her backpack as an overnight bag and texts Jongdae, asking if he can pick her up. Minseok, his oldest brother, can drive and often chauffeurs them around.

Downstairs, Mrs. Byun looks out from the kitchen. “Why are you kids slamming doors?”

“Because Chanyeol kicked my dog. He’s lucky I didn’t kick him out the window.”

“ _Baekhee_.”

“I’m taking Mongryong and going to Jongdae’s. I already told Dad.” She doesn’t bother with the dog’s harness, stuffing it into her backpack along with an unopened bag of dog food.

She only stays for the day. For as quick as her temper is, it cools just as fast. Jongdae helps, being naturally tranquil and letting her vent until she’s breathless. Mongryong seems fine, walking and running and eating like normal. He doesn’t fight the extra coddling, though.

Mrs. Byun offers to pick her up, but it’s Chanyeol who leans over from the driver’s seat to unlock the passenger door. Mongryong stands behind Baekhee’s legs, unsure.

“I thought Mom was picking me up.”

“She asked me to, so c’mon.” He stares out the windshield and mutters something that sounds like, “She probably wants to make me apologize.”

“Uh...oh, shoot. Hang on. I-I think I forgot something.” Eat your heart out, Academy. She jogs back into the house. Jongdae looks surprised, a can of soda halfway to his lips.

“Forget something?”

“Can I spend the night?”

“I thought your mom’s outside.”

“It’s Chanyeol. I just...I don’t feel like going home with him.” Hot tears well in her eyes. “Please let me stay.”

“Whoa, whoa. Yeah, it’s fine. You don’t have to cry.” He sets his soda aside and opens his arms, catching her in a tight embrace. “What happened?”

“Things have just been…weird at home with Chanyeol, and kicking my dog?” She takes a shaky breath and sighs. “Come outside with me?”

“Sure.”

Chanyeol looks up when Baekhee opens the door. “About time. Can we go, now?”

“I’m staying the night. Sorry you drove all the way out here.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but Jongdae shifts in place, drawing his attention, and he sighs. “Whatever. See you later.”

“Good night, Chanyeol.”

“Yeah.” He shuts the window and pulls from the curb, cranking the wheel too hard to make the tight U-turn. The passenger wheel scrapes the opposite curb, but he doesn’t slow down until he’s at the intersection, performing a rolling stop when no other cars are waiting.

When she goes home the next day, Chanyeol ignores her, and she’s fine with that. Somewhat. She doesn’t like his attitude, but she doesn’t like being ignored, either.

Dinnertime passes without any attempt at communication aside from a grunt asking her to move away from the fridge, and Baekhee’s had enough. She’ll just text her brother. They have to talk sometime, and he has to know that even if he’s feeling shitty, he can not take it out on anyone else, physically or otherwise, but she’s always willing to listen to him if he needs to talk.

If she can find her phone.

Her parents—and Chanyeol—are watching the news on TV. “Has anyone seen my phone?”

“Is it in your hand? Pretty sure you share a blood supply.”

“ _Ha ha,_ Dad.” She turns to Chanyeol. “Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Would you call it, please?” It’s a big request, she knows, so Chanyeol’s sigh and eye roll is justified.

When he holds up his phone with the speaker on, they hear a brief ring and immediate voice message. Her phone is off.

“Thanks...” She sighs and goes upstairs. Her laptop has a texting program on it, so she’s not completely disconnected, and she did manage to kind of talk to Chanyeol, but she doesn’t like losing her things, especially when it’s a thing with photos and personal information she’d rather not share with the world.

“Monryongie,” she says to her dog, who flip-flops on her bed to sit up at his name, “you didn’t eat my phone, did you?” His rear wiggles, displaying either shamelessness or confident innocence. She rubs his silky ears and tries to think back on her day. Last night, she’d watched a show on her phone and plugged it in. Did she turn it off? It can’t be out of battery.

Her cord is sitting on her dresser, phone-less. It’s not in her purse or backpack or the sweatpants she’d put on after school.

“Oh, well,” Baekhee tells herself, grabbing her robe and heading to the bathroom. Mongryong follows, always concerned when his girl goes into the shower, because it’s wet and awful. “It can’t have gone far, right?”

And it didn’t. The next day, Chanyeol tosses it onto her bed. “It was in the cushions. I cleaned the crumbs off.”

“I’d looked there!” To be fair, she avoids reaching too far into their sofa because of all those crumbs and bits and pieces of the past. It just feels gross. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” This is doubly weird. Chanyeol’s awake and up before her. It’s strange enough that Baekhee thinks maybe she dreamed it, but her phone is right in her hand.

She takes her time getting ready and carefully rubs her eyes when she sees him sitting at the island downstairs. Not a dream.

He looks up from his phone and greets her around a mouthful of food. “Hi.”

“Hi..” She sits a seat away and lifts Toben the poodle to the stool between them. The puppy uses his new vantage point to beg for food. “You sleep okay?”

“Slept fine. I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so.” He shrugs.

That good mood is spoiled when she gets to school. She doesn’t know what it is, but there’s a weird sort of chill that settles between her shoulder blades, like if she turns fast enough, she’ll catch someone staring, or if she focuses enough, she’ll hear someone talking about her. She’s not at all shy with attention; this seems like an open secret sort of attention, though, like they don’t want her to know they know something.

The chill turns downright icy when the homeroom teacher is followed in by the assistant principal and calls her name.

“Miss Byun,” she calls and waves a hand. “Follow me, please.”

“What did I do?” Baekhee whispers to Jongdae. He shrugs, although it’s half-hearted, like he has an idea he’s not willing to share.

She packs up her things and follows the woman into the hall. Passing Chanyeol’s desk, he doesn't even look up, keeping his chin in his hand and doodling in a notebook.

Baekhee’s never been to the assistant principal’s office before, but they go right to the principal’s office, and a police officer as well as guidance counselor and her dad are waiting inside.

Mr. Byun pulls the open chair beside him closer and pats the back of it. “Hi, baby.”

She sits slowly, that uncomfortable icy chill making it hard to move. “Dad… What’s going on?”

“You’re not in trouble.”

Not assuring.

“Mr. Byun…” The principal, an older-than-middle-aged woman with graying hair and reading glasses on a beaded chain, laces her fingers together and nods to the chair beside him. “Miss Byun, I’m sorry to take you from class, but something disturbing has come to our attention.”

“Did I do something?” Sometimes she leads the other cheerleaders in bold directions, but they’ve never done anything super wild or unforgiveable. She doodles on her tests, sometimes, too, and there was that one time a teacher thought her scribble of a belly dancer was too provocative and called in her dad, but they both agreed the teacher was just sensitive. No big deal.

“Maybe not…” The principal sighs and looks at the guidance counselor. “There’s been a rather intimate video of you posted online and sent to many students, who have unfortunately shared it with other students and friends outside of school.”

The guidance counselor shows her a tablet with a queued video. Just from the thumbnail, Baekhee recognises their upstairs bathroom.

Their shower enclosure doors are made of frosted glass, so her silhouette is warped, but the video begins with her undressing—revealing her bare backside and some bruises on her legs and arms from hapkido—and stepping into the shower, recording her dancing around and singing to Mongryong cutting off before she leaves the shower.

It had been posted online and emailed to a large number of students.

As far as intimate videos go, it’s nothing super erotic, Baekhee reasons. She’s just taking a shower, like most people in the country do, and singing, like she’s known to do pretty much all the time, but that it was taken without her knowing and then shared with the virtual world is just...invasive.

Even Chanyeol and Jongdae have it.

Mr. Byun holds her hand, squeezing it every now and then, but Baekhee doesn’t pay attention to anything. She can’t. Even her own thoughts seem to be tuned out, leaving her an empty husk in the middle of the principal’s office.

Her dad lifts her to her feet by the elbow and leads her out, bowing to the others in thanks or just saying goodbye. Baekhee catches nothing they discuss and only realizes they’re in her dad’s car when he’s telling her to buckle her seat belt.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t know what happened.”

“We’ll figure it out. For the time being, you’re not going to class, but someone will bring your books and homework.”

“I’m suspended?”

“They’re investigating the video and doing their best to take it down, but...we both know that once something’s online, it stays there. And some may have downloaded it. It’s impossible to completely remove, and I am sorry, honey.”

“So am I.” Someone broke her trust and effectively her heart with this.

Someone like her brother.

It’s the only way it makes sense. He’d returned her phone, but he easily could’ve taken it. They use similar password patterns ever since they’d gotten their first phones.

The dogs are delighted to have her home early; she takes them both for a walk and throws a frisbee for an hour.

When Chanyeol comes home after practice, he doesn’t say anything, but maybe he doesn’t see her; Baekhee is curled up on the sofa with both dogs beneath a blanket.

“Did you hear what happened?”

“Yeah, it sucks.” An understatement.

“Is that all?”

He throws a hand up defensively. “What do you want me to say?” His shoulders are tense. Baekhee has seen him like this before; it’s his stance when he’s feeling guilty.

She shakes her head and plays with Toben’s curly ears. “Nothing. I guess it doesn’t matter to you, anyway.”

“What’s not—Whatever.”

Mongryong snorts, and Baekhee feels the same. She waits for the opportunity to present itself and only has to wait a night for Chanyeol to leave his phone long enough for her to get her hands on it.

While he’s in the shower before school, Baekhee steals into his room and picks up his phone from where it’s charging on his pillow.

The security is a pattern lock, like hers, and they’ve used the same thing—just rotating it around—for pretty much ever.

It’s a bit of a surprise when his home screen is a selfie they’d taken while waiting in line opening night of the newest Star Wars movie. Baekhee’s hair is tied back in a series of buns, and Chanyeol’s fully geeked-out in robes and a plastic lightsaber. It was a fun night.

Pulling up his usual chat, she perches on the edge of his bed and leans back to see that the bathroom door is still shut. Sometimes he takes longer than she does in the bathroom, and she prefers to assume he just has a more intense skincare routine.

Scrolling through logs, there’s a lot of nerd talk. If the typing wasn’t interrupted by so many emojis, it would look like her own chats.

An unnamed group chat catches her attention, and it doesn’t let go, squeezing, instead.

The screen vibrates as she reads, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s her own hand and arm shaking. Taking her one phone from her pocket, she photographs the chat, as much as she can stomach looking at again, and quickly closes it. Much longer, and she feels like she’ll throw up.

It’s enough to confront him with, but she bites her bottom lip and wonders, opening the browser history. Some sites are expected, music and video games; others are unexpected but not out of the realm of reality for a teenage boy, and then there’s the site she wanted to convince herself was impossible.

A cool touch on her ankle makes her jump, and Toben falls over himself in surprise. She pets his back and lifts him onto Chanyeol’s bed; the poodle makes himself comfortable on a pillow and lays down. It’s such a normal thing and starkly relaxed compared to how she feels.

If it was any other problem, she’d park herself on the sofa downstairs or go to her room and text her friends, polling for opinions or looking for sympathy, but neither seem appropriate. She just wants to sleep and wake up and have it be a dream.

Before going to bed, though, she ties a ribbon to her door handle and attaches it to a figurine on her dresser. If the door opens during the night, regardless of the button lock, it’ll pull the figurine down, and she should wake up.

It takes a couple of days, but Baekhee stews in her thoughts while home from school and finally bursts one deceptively quiet evening.

Baekhee’s going through the new cheer routine, watching herself and her posture in her mirror when Chanyeol looks in, dropping mail onto her dresser. He could just drop it and go, but he has to open his mouth.

“Just because Junghwa dances like a slut doesn’t mean you need to follow her example.”

She drops her arms and frowns at his reflection. “It’s a cheer routine; we are all learning it,” pivoting, she narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, “but just how does a slut dance, anyway, Chanyeol? Is there a genre I’m not aware of?”

“You know what I mean—”

“No, I don’t, and don’t you dare ever say that about her again. She trains hard every day for dance. It is her passion, and you have no right to say anything bad about. Same about us cheerleaders. Plus! We learn _our_ routines to help _your_ team.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Whatever.”

“Not ‘whatever!’” She storms after him, ducking beneath a swung arm, and blocks his path, hands on her hips. “What the hell is up with you, lately? You’re moody and pissy and acting like a total misogynistic dickhead.”

“Maybe you’re the problem.”

“If I did something to piss you off, then _tell me_ , so I can fix it! Don’t just talk about me online like I’m a piece of meat.” He ducks his head sharply. “Yes, Chanyeol, I know you’ve been talking about me. I looked at your phone. You had mine, so I took yours. Biological or not, you are my brother, and I love you, but…” she swallows the lump in her throat, “not like that.”

He mumbles something.

“What?”

“I said, _Why not_? We’re not blood related; it’s not like it’s something bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be bad! You’re my _brother_ , and I don’t appreciate you sexualizing me like one of your magazine models or thinking about me like a piece of meat that needs to be taken down and devoured.”

“Kids, stop arguing, please,” their mother calls tiredly up the stairs. “I have a headache.”

“I think you’d change your mind if you just tried it once. What’s so different about me and Jongdae?”

“Jongdae isn’t my brother, and he doesn’t openly fetishize me, and he’s be best friend! Keep your fantasies to yourself, if you insist on having them at all.”

“Baek—”

“Get your hand off me right now, or so help me.”

“Just listen to me and stop being such a prudish bitch!”

Baekhee grabs his wrist and wrenches it upwards, spinning on her heel and lurching forward to throw him over her shoulder. A frame falls from the wall when he lands, but the glass doesn’t break.

Their mother comes charging up the stairs. “What the hell are you two doing up there? Baekhee! _Baekhee!_ ”

She frowns at the woman and goes to her room wordlessly, ignoring the angry shouts at her back.

She stays in her room until she hears her dad’s car pull into the driveway. She’d already texted him that _Mom’s pissed_ , and she hears him enter more softly than usual, prepping himself for an emotionally charged verbal assault.

Baekhee opens her door and sits in the doorway, leaning against the frame to listen.

“ _Your_ daughter nearly _threw_ Chanyeol down the stairs! I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance or the police. She’s becoming dangerous!”

“There’s probably a reason, honey. They’re kids; kids fight. Sometimes, they don’t find the words—”

“But do girls usually throw boys bigger than they are?”

“Usually, no, but that shouldn’t be the issue, dear. Did you ask what upset them so much that she resorted to violence?”

“I can’t talk to that girl right now. Every time I try, she just glares at me. I swear, she has had it out for me ever since we married.”

“You’re being paranoid. A lot of step-parents feel that way. Look after Chanyeol; it may be a good idea to take him to the clinic, just to get checked out. I’ll talk to Baekhee.”

“If that girl hurts my son again, so help me…”

“I understand, now, please. Try to relax.” He addresses Chanyeol, “Are you alright?”

Chanyeol mumbles something, then, “...but I don’t think anything’s broken.” Just his pride is a little bruised.

“I’m glad. Go with your mom, just to be sure.”

Baekhee grabs a jacket and her phone. She can’t listen to the Park Pity Party anymore.

Unfortunately, their stairs open to the main living area, where the rest of the family are, so she can’t just leave without them noticing. She ignores them and puts on her shoes, suiting up her dog in his harness as well and clipping a leash to the back.

“Where are you going?”

“Jongdae’s.”

“Shacking up with the boyfriend, already?”

“Chanyeol,” Mrs. Byun warns. She doesn’t appreciate her stepchild hurting her own, but she is not above smacking her own son for being a jerk.

He scoffs a soft _whatever_ and sits on the sofa.

“I’ll drive you, Baek,” Mr. Byun says.

“Do not encourage her!”

“You’re both upset and need time to cool down.” He gently pushes Baekhee ahead of him. “Go to the clinic and run a hot bath when you get back; add some of that lavender salt. I’ll be back soon.” He calmly closes the door on any more protests and follows his daughter.

Out in the car, Baekhee’s quiet. It’s ten minutes into the ride that she apologizes, squeezing Mongryong enough to make him grunt.

“I didn’t mean to make her angry. It has nothing to do with her, and I don’t hate her or anything.”

“And what about your brother? What did Chanyeol do that you threw him—nicely done, by the way. Glad to see I’m getting my money’s worth from those hapkido lessons.” He laughs. “Baekhee?” She sniffles. “Honey, I’m not mad, really.”

“I’m just frustrated.”

“What about?”

She’s tempted to not say anything. She knows her dad won’t pry, but something about silence makes her talk. Ever since she was little, she’s had to fill silences with _something_ , whether singing or speech.

“Chanyeol is… He had my phone, and when I took his, I found chats between him and some ‘friends…’ about me. Girls like me.

“I think I’m afraid of him, Dad. I don’t know what’s happening to him.” She nods as she says it, realizing that she really is afraid of who her brother is becoming. A wail claws out of her throat, surprising them both. Mr. Byun turns on his hazard lights and pulls to the side of the road, unbuckling his belt to face her as best he can.

She has photos of Chanyeol’s phone, showing the chat logs, but she just can’t reveal everything. Her father is kind and logical with a great sense of justice, but if he knew what Chanyeol wanted to do, she doesn’t know what her dad would do.

He scrolls through the photos, reading them thoroughly. A vein shows more and more on his forehead, but he doesn’t show any other anger. “I’ll talk to him. Let’s get you to the Kims’, first. Ask to spend the night.”

She’s already texted Jongdae; he replies immediately, saying he’s waiting for her outside.

When Mr. Byun pulls up to the curb outside of the Kims’ house, he stops his daughter from exiting right away and pulls her into a hug.

“Try to get some sleep tonight, alright?”

No promises, but Baekhee nods.

Mongryong hops out first, shaking his coat and barking once at Jongdae. Baekhee gets out slower and wave when her dad drives away. Jongdae comes down and takes her hand, tugging a little to get her to walk, but they only go as far as the old porch swing.

Her Corgi paws at the front door, going inside by himself as if it’s his own home.

Night isn’t completely dark with the ambient city lights lightening the sky to a shade of red-violet. Crickets sing to the night, even so close to the city. It’s warm enough that they’re still out, but the news warns of a cold snap within the week.

Jongdae feels something wet hit his arm, followed by two more. He lets the tears soak into his shirt and wonders if he should ask why she’s crying. For as long as he’s known her, Baekhee’s been one to cry when frustrated more than when sad or angry. Sometimes, most of the times, she’ll vent to him. The longer she’s quiet, the more worried he gets.

His oldest brother, Minseok, returns from a workout at the gym and jogs up the steps. “Hey, Baek. I thought you went home, like, two days ago...” His brows dip when he notices the glisten of her wet cheeks.

“She wants to stay the night,” Jongdae says. “Will you back me up with Mom and Dad?”

Minseok nods, still frowning. “Sure. Did something happen?”

“I dunno…”

Minseok crouches and looks up at Baekhee’s face. “You want to talk about it?” She slowly shakes her head, hiding more tears into Jongdae’s neck. “Okay. That’s okay. You can stay in Junghwa and Jooyeon’s room. They won’t mind.” He looks to his brother. “I’ll tell them. They’re both home, right?”

“Yeah. Jooyeon’s probably still on the phone, though.”

“Thank you, oppa,” Baekhee whispers. She nudges Jongdae. “I’m cold.” Minseok steps back to let them inside first. His cat, Tan, winds around their ankles but stands on her hind legs for Minseok to pick her up. With her on his shoulder, he goes to the kitchen to talk to their mom.

Jongdae holds Baekhee’s hand and silently leads her upstairs to his and Minseok’s shared room. He lays down when she pushes at him a little and lets her curl around him. She’s a touchy sort of person, like Jongdae; it’s why most of their class assumes they’re dating.

“I think Chanyeol posted that video of me online.”

Jongdae flinches, not expecting her to say anything, much less anything about the video. “Chanyeol? Why?”

“I thought I’d lost my phone, but he had it. We used the same pattern as a password for years, and I found a chat with some people about it. They were...talking about me.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Mm-hm.” She sniffles.

“What’d he say?”

“ _It’s not like we’re real siblings._ ”

Jongdae sighs through his nose. He’s not equipped to handle this kind of situation. His best friend is hurting—because of her own sibling—and he’s helpless. “Have you told anyone?”

“Like who? My parents? I can’t do that to them. I only told my dad about the chats, because there’s actual evidence, and I could tell right away he was pissed. What if I’m wrong about this, though? He’s my _brother_ , whether he likes it or not. It could be a huge joke!”

“It’s not funny.”

“No...it’s not, but I just can’t believe he’d do something like that to me. Like, yeah, maybe he has a crush on me, but he knows how to give and take rejection. I _know_ he does. What could be so wrong with him that he’d do this? I don’t believe it.” She shakes her head. “She’s just really embracing that hormonal teenage boy stereotype. If it has a pulse, it’s exciting.”

Jongdae holds a hand to his chest, saying nothing.

“No offense to other hormonal teenage boys, of course.” She sniffles and manages a half-smile.

“Let’s just go inside for now. Ask my sisters if they mind sharing their room again. Mongryong’s probably already there.”

“He’s pretty much in love with Junghwa.” Sure enough, the dog’s sprawled out on his back between the girl’s legs, enjoying a massage.

“Hi oppa, unni. You staying over?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Go in the dresser for pajamas.” She squeezes one of Mongryong’s feet and leans over to kiss his muzzle. He gladly eats up the attention.

Baekhee’s grateful for the Kim sisters. They’re almost like her own. Junghwa took a little bit to warm up to her at first, being a reserved six-year-old. Now, it’s hard to believe she’s the same girl; her laughter is more of a joyous scream, and she melts when she sees a dog. The older middle child, Jooyeon, is a deceptively elegant-looking theatre student with a habit of mothering her siblings and Baekhee, by extension.

She immediately fusses over Baekhee when she returns from a rather long phone call with a long-distance not-boyfriend. She starts clearing off her bed, assuring Baekhee that she’ll share with Junghwa, and Baekhee can take Junghwa’s bed.

Not having to set up a DIY security system for a night is nice.

Mr. Byun follows through, taking Chanyeol aside and finishing a lecture on responsibility and respect with a promise of new worlds of hurt if he doesn’t change his tune. Chanyeol isn’t very responsive, looking sullen and a little sorry but also defiant. It’s a strange look on him, but his dad doesn’t worry too much.

When Baekhee comes home, preceded by an enthusiastic Corgi investigating his territory and reasserting his alpha dog status over the puppy, she senses the tension. Just like at school, there’s an icy chill in her shoulder blades.

Her brother doesn’t even have to say anything, ignoring her so thoroughly that she feels invisible.

That iciness travels up her spine and settles in her head, which her body tries to alleviate by taking a metaphorical ice pick to it. Baekhee is no stranger to migraines, and she tries to tough it out and persevere, but she barely makes it to lunch time before dragging herself to her mom with a blanket over her head.

“Oh, baby… Come with me.” Mrs. Byun takes her by the shoulder, carefully hugging her and leading her upstairs to the master bedroom. In the attached bathroom, she pops open an orange container and picks a couple of pills. Growing up with migraines herself, she knows that the rattle of a pill bottle can sound more like a jackhammer. “These will knock you out cold.; you won’t feel a thing. We could light your bed on fire, and you’d sleep through it.”

“That sounds perfect.” Baekhee takes the pills with a couple drinks of tap water and shuffles back to her room with a hand on the wall to feel her way.

After closing the blinds and curtains on her window, she changes into her comfiest pajamas—a ratty T-shirt from an elementary school cheer camp and baggy sweatpants she has to secure the tie with a knot to make sure they stay up. Mongryong paws at her door; if she ignores him, he’ll start whining, and the pitch will probably kill her, so she lets him in and removes his collar. He sniffs at her and licks her fingers, climbing up his steps to sit on her bed.

She really wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and not wake up for a good long while, but the little anxious monster called anxiety makes her reset her homemade security system, tying the string from her figurine to the door handle.

Everything hurts. Her eyes feel dry and tight; her _hair_ hurts, like gravity is doing its best to tear it right out of her scalp. Even her teeth hurt, but letting her jaw hang makes her jaw sore.

There’s just no winning. She can only hope her mom’s pills kick in fast, so she can sleep off the pain.

Mongryong pants happily until noticing her slow movements and soft groans, drooping to the blankets with a soft whine. He slithers up the bed when she lies down, nosing beneath her arm and grunting when pulled close but not struggling to get away.

After some shifting, Baekhee gets as comfortable as she can and uses her dog to block more light. Even holding him to her face physically hurts, but it she’s a little bit happier with his company.

She does finally relax, out of it enough to not even wipe the drool from her face when Mongryong gives her a commiserating kiss.

It’s dark when she wakes up, but there’s no pounding in her temples or flashes of light. She feels pretty good until she looks out the window. Peeking through the blinds, she sees snow. It accumulated overnight; she’ll have to wake up Chanyeol to help her shovel the driveway.

Her phone blinks green when she turns it over. It’s a text from Chanyeol, and her heart drops when she sees the preview.

 

im sorry baek

_Great_ , she thinks. _What’d he do, now?_

“When you read this, i hope i’m already dead, because i cant face you anymore. I tried to do something terrible last night. For all ive said and done to you, im sorry. Im sorry im too cowardly to say this to you in person, but i think you;ll be better off without me.

“Its no excuse, ut i still want you to understand me. I do love you. I watched you grow up into someone beautiful, and i was bitter and angry that i couldnt have you because of our parents. My dad hurt us and my older sister killed herself because of it. seeing him do that, i think id thought it was okay, because he was an adult, and a man, and thats how grown men act. Its not. I know that now.

“I want you to be happy. I love you. Im sorry.

“I think i’m more afraid of hurting you and having you hate me than i’m afraid of dying.”

She reads it twice, to be sure she understands it, because it’s too bizarre, and her heart is thrashing against her ribs and drumming in her ears when she untangles the blankets from her legs. Her pajama pants slip down her butt; the string is on the mattress beside her, knot cut.

Her door is unlocked, and the figurine she’d attached with a string to the door handle is on the floor, its head broken off.

Chanyeol’s door also has a button lock, and she pops it with the key over the bathroom door, but she has to shove it to open.

The usual clutter and mess meets her. His bed isn’t made, but he never makes it; she always comes in the morning after he’s woken up and in the bathroom to tidy his blankets and pillows.

Her racing thoughts skid to a halt when she looks down and sees a pale, wrinkled hand, and way in the back of her mind, she knows it’ll be an image that haunts the rest of her life.

Baekhee’s father knows he’s raised his kids to be strong, independent thinkers. He feels a little put out, sometimes, because his daughter rarely, if ever, asks for help. She finds her own solution or probably goes to one of her girl friends—he’s still in denial of his baby talking to boys, because as a boy, he can say that boys her age are gross and remain gross for most of their lives. He only got lucky marrying Baekhee’s mother because he made her laugh.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s not a good enough dad to warrant giving advice or sharing the wisdom he’s picked up from his own experiences.

But then she’ll do something out of the blue, often hanging over his desk chair to hug him and kiss his cheek without any reason or explanation, and he knows it’s her way of expressing she cares. He doesn’t need to do anything special to have her love, because he’s always there, just in case.

So he knows something is very wrong when he hears Baekhee scream his name upstairs. It’s about the time the kids get up to get ready for school. They’re both responsible for setting their own alarms, a rule set by his wife, and Baekhee will often go kick Chanyeol out of bed to avoid their mother’s wrath, because he’s a deep sleeper and notorious for ignoring his alarms.

With that first cry, he drops his mug, and it crashes against the countertop, spilling over his breakfast. Charging upstairs, he can hear Baekhee crying— _wailing_ is more accurate; he’s never heard a more wretched cry—and trips into Chanyeol’s room.

Baekhee’s on her knees, arms shaking as she struggles with a tight knot and begging him to _let him down; Daddy get him down!_

He can tell by the boy’s color that he’s gone. An empty container of their mother’s sleeping pills is beside him. There’s nothing he can do.

It’s been years since he carried his kids, but he scoops his daughter off the floor and takes her downstairs, a sick disbelief and guilt squeezing his chest.

Baekhee clings to him when he tries to put her on the sofa. Heavy panting reaches their front door, and he doesn’t know what to tell his wife.

She hears the dogs outside and her step-mom telling them to sit, but it’s like being underwater. Sounds are far away and kind of stuffy, like there’s cotton in her ears.

Baekhee lets herself be placed on the cushions and holds her knees. The dogs trot inside, although they both quickly pick up on the mood and slow to a stilted walk.

Mongryong sort of slinks to her feet, sniffing her with his ears to his head. She’s noisy, even without his sensitive hearing. Toben dog stays across the room, whining and starting to howl.

Mrs. Byun hangs her keys and wraps the leashes around one another to hang on a hook near the door. “Baekhee?” Her husband takes her arms, steering her into the kitchen. “Dear, what happened? Is she sick?”

“No, but something’s happened—” “What is it? Where’s Chanyeol?” She hears the stress in his voice and pushes against him, trying to break free to check on her children, but he tightens his grip almost until it hurts.

“Honey, just _wait here_ , please—” He holds on but walks with her until they’re in the living room again. Chanyeol’s dog is whining beside the stairs, and Baekhee’s dog is howling at her feet.

“ _What happened?_ Where is Chanyeol?”

“Dear, don’t go upstairs—” He can’t catch his wife and comfort his daughter; he hugs Baekhee as tight as he can when his wife’s wretched scream shakes his heart. “I need to get the phone, Baekhee, to call for help. I’ll be right back.”

The dogs creep closer, using their steps when she doesn’t move to lift them to crowd around her and try to lick her hot tears.

Left by herself, she doesn’t want to, but she imagines the process of her brother’s suicide. The belt, the pills, the slow pressure as he relaxed in his sleep…

She hopes it was quick.

“I didn’t want him to die, Jongdae. I wanted him to get help.”

Everything feels dry. Her eyes, her skin, her throat. It’s all just parched and scratchy. She blearily stares at Jongdae in the mirror.

“Have you ever felt like you’ll never be happy again?”

“No, but that’s okay. You don’t have to be happy, for now. Just get through today.”

“You want to read it?” Her phone is face-down on her dresser, set to silent. Since the news broke, it had been blowing up with messages and questions and became too much of a headache. “You were friends, too, and I trust you.”

He takes her phone when she offers it, staring at the screen and debating quietly. Baekhee looks out the window at a squirrel climbing up a tree.

“He had a sister before me,” she says. “She...died...after being abused by their birth dad. I thought when he said his dad was gone, he was dead, but he was in prison until recently. Chanyeol wanted to die rather than become like his dad.”

“I had no idea.” Jongdae sets the phone aside. He can’t read the whole note; even skimming it physically hurts. They were close, once, and he feels guilty for not sticking with him more even through Chanyeol’s changing moods and attitude. There was a reason for it, and he evidently tried to handle it alone.

“I feel responsible,” Baekhee moans. Hot tears well in her eyes, but the sob gets caught, and she chokes, bringing up sour bile. She wrenches the waste basket from its spot beside the dresser and heaves.

Jongdae rubs her back. He has a wad of tissues in his hand when she can breathe again.

“Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I’d just...let him…”

“No. Baek, that wouldn’t have helped or solved anything. What happened is no one’s fault or responsibility, least of all yours.”

Baekhee still feels like shit.

Her brother is dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Sibling abuse is actually super common, but it’s not always seen as abuse, because “kids will be kids,” and of course siblings fight. Among incest cases, siblings incest is most common, more frequently a brother assaulting a sister.
> 
> This was very hard to write. It just would not allow me to put the story into words. It's also longer than my usual; I think that made it harder for me to really keep close enough attention to the plot and rhythm, so this is as good as I can do right now. I hope, if readers find enough enjoyment in it, to return to it and spruce it up to greater potential.


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